


For I Shall Meet With Sympathy

by beswathe



Category: Shin Megami Tensei: Devil Summoner
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-25 21:31:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17733041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beswathe/pseuds/beswathe
Summary: Bearers of the Kuzunoha title must get acquainted with death. Raidou knows someone who understands.





	For I Shall Meet With Sympathy

**Author's Note:**

> I've bastardised _Frankenstein_ (1818) to flesh out Victor's backstory (and lifted the title from it), but you don't need to be familiar with the book to read this fic. Aside from that, if you're expecting me to explain myself, I got nothin'.

For someone acquainted with every ghost and ghoul in the Capital, Raidou was hard-pressed to name one he found more peculiar than Victor. It was not because the doctor was once a mere man, nor because he had eccentricity down to a science, between fusion and forging and his other flights of fancy. It was because Victor did not seem to die—and Raidou, having been reliably informed that he would inevitably die young, couldn’t decide how he felt about Victor because of it.

Victor alluded to cheating death as freely as he alluded to anything else in his past, dredging secrets from murky waters and displaying them as mere conversational pieces. Raidou believed some of it (if Victor was nothing else, he was most _certainly_ a Westerner), doubted quite a bit of it, and often silently deferred to Gouto’s crotchety mutterings about their resident quack being a compulsive liar. He would perhaps place Victor’s claims of immortality into the last category—things that were either the ramblings of a lunatic or outright fiction—if he hadn’t seen proof of Victor’s durability himself.

“It is a crying shame,” Victor said, hands rapturously outstretched, “that you’re a man of few words by nature, Kuzunoha. What you are about to see will surely render you speechless.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Gouto replied, from the hammock he’d made of Raidou’s arms. “But the sooner you get on with the show, the sooner you’ll hear our rave reviews.”

“Patience! We shall see grim times indeed when people lose all appreciation for stagecraft.”

Raidou directed a perfunctory frown to the top of Gouto’s head. Victor sounded faintly annoyed, which rarely made for successful concoctions.

Though he understood Gouto’s impatience. They'd spent the better part of two days hunting down the powdered teeth of a lantern spirit—and, when it had proved difficult to justify extracting them from the mouth of one such peaceful demon, devoted an evening to bartering with it for its baby teeth. They were evidently not the first summoners to enter that part of town with a similar request.

There was a variety of scientific glassware bubbling away on Victor’s workbench, almost in height order, ranging from stubby beakers to triangular filtering flasks. Victor took the vial of powder from Raidou’s grip—seized it would be a more accurate description—and poured its contents into the first container, wielding a delicate sort of precision that Raidou found incongruous with everything else about him.

Then, Victor told Raidou to stand back.

Raidou had never watched the brewing of an invisibility serum before, so he wasn’t sure if the eruption of a shimmering liquid was normal. It was bright orange, too bright to observe for long, and it burst from the beaker like a concentrated geyser. Plenty of heat rolled off it; Raidou had retreated so far that he almost had his back to the door, but he could still feel the room temperature go up by more than just a few degrees.

When the fountain subsided, Raidou removed his hand from shielding his face. The sting of sharp claws in his arm told him Gouto was presumably fine, albeit rattled, so he looked to Victor first. He found Victor looking back, goggles crooked and expression resigned; having his work backfire was nothing new.

Raidou could see straight through to the back of the laboratory via a hole in Victor’s chest.

That _was_ new.

“Dash it all,” Victor said, scowling as he pulled his goggles down.

Raidou stared with wide eyes. It was a reprehensible loss of composure.

Victor seemed to appreciate the novelty, because he first raised a brow, then glanced down at himself. The wound wasn't particularly large; it was as though someone had drawn around a fist, then tunneled through him, without leaving so much as a smear of blood behind.

“Why do you look surprised, Kuzunoha?” Victor said, either smiling from amusement or pleasure at the thought he’d achieved some measure of stagecraft after all. “I did tell you I can’t die. Or did you not believe me?”

Perhaps Raidou hadn’t, but now the hypothesis had been thoroughly demonstrated.

And that was that. 

* * *

It was sometimes easy to forget that Raidou’s terminally idle employer had once been a soldier. Past Narumi’s penchant for wingtipped brogues and naps after lunch lay a man who’d goose-stepped and learnt how to handle a rifle. Narumi’s distaste for the whole institution gave him a convenient excuse for leaving any physical altercations to Raidou, but he remained Raidou's most well-trained ally, with regards to discipline and what combat called for. Their experience overlapped in places.

And yet, there were still very few situations in which Narumi could match him. Narumi was able to hold down the fort—Raidou was glad of that, because it meant there was someone who could look out for Tae—but whenever the chips were down, he ultimately relied on Raidou for protection. Not least of all because he couldn’t _see_ the very demons that threatened the city most.

Raidou had witnessed death, of course. He had watched Nagi shed tears over her mentor’s passing with a personal intimacy that was almost unheard of for graduates of the Kuzunoha clan. Raidou’s parents had died before imparting any lasting memories, so the first people he’d ever developed any reason to weep for were Narumi and Tae.

Since her sacrifice, Akane had troubled Raidou’s mind on the quietest nights, when slumber seemed to permeate every layer of the city. He was starting to think about death not just as a hazard of the job. He thought of it as he was, a mortal, a guardian of the weak who might be subject to human error.

“I think I need your help,” Raidou said, occupying the centre of Victor’s attention and feeling chary in return. He knew he’d broken their usual routine by turning up with nothing tangible to offer. No yen at the ready or new confinement tubes in his belt.

“Another text in need of translation?” Victor asked, leaning slightly over his table. He gripped the edge with both gloved hands, and Raidou was conscious of Victor’s impossible height. He looked odd, stooping like that.

“No. Not this time.” Raidou glanced down at Gouto, only to find Gouto watching him with the same curiosity. He’d clearly never heard the expression about what that did to cats. “It’s something personal.”

“Oh?” Victor made a show of thoughtfully rubbing his jaw, and the gleam in his eye couldn’t mean anything good. “I must confess, Kuzunoha, I’m shaken to discover there’s much of a person beneath that hat of yours in the first place. How exciting!”

“I don’t entirely know what I’m asking for,” Raidou said. “So I don’t know what you’d want as…”

“Compensation?” Victor supplied, when Raidou trailed off. “That'll hinge on how you intend to employ my services. When in doubt, money rarely goes amiss.”

“I have money.”

“Then I implore you to speak.”

Though he lacked the necessary knowledge to give specifics, Raidou had turned over the sketch of his request for a week or so before bringing it to the Gouma Den. Yet the points he’d felt were important, along with every justification he’d prepared, fluttered out of his head while Victor scrutinised him. He felt abruptly selfish, fending off a voice in his ear that sounded awfully like the Herald, chastising him for playing favourites when the whole city was his ward.

“I want to protect Tae,” he said, finally, “and Narumi. There’s only so much demons can do for them, and it isn’t practical to train them myself. They’re in danger whenever I’m not around.”

Victor smiled. It stretched his mouth slowly, sly and patronising.

“You seem to be asking me to perform magic.”

“Could you do it?” Raidou asked, sounding more quarrelsome to his own ears than he wanted. “A spell might work. A charm.”

“I’ve dabbled in sorcery as I have all dark arts, but I cannot claim any proficiency. Even if I could, it wouldn’t be of any use to you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Exactly that,” Victor said, waving a hand. “Your friends resemble you on a molecular level. If acquainted with a scalpel, I expect they’d bleed just the same. But that is where the similarities end.”

Raidou grimaced, just slightly, but didn’t say anything. He sensed Victor hadn’t finished.

“You were shaped by the supernatural,” Victor said. His voice was softer than Raidou had ever heard it; perhaps he thought it was a kindness, but Raidou felt humiliation stoke heat in the tips of his ears. “Magic raised you as a parent would and you consorted with higher powers, hailing from this realm and others. Exposing ordinary souls to something so potent now, after years of muddling by without it, would very much defeat your purposes.”

“It might hurt them,” Raidou said, if only to test that he understood.

“Sometimes, that which should heal us does the most harm.”

Raidou was grateful for Gouto’s silence, even if it was only the product of disbelief. On some level, he knew he’d avoided talking it out with Gouto first precisely because he’d wanted to avoid an answer like this one. A part of him had hoped Victor would be happy to circumvent any consequences and simply find a _way_. The laws of nature had never seemed to stop Victor before.

“You won’t do it,” Raidou said. Then, correcting himself, “You _can’t_ do it.”

“Do not despair,” Victor said, earnestly splaying a hand over his chest. “Your concern for others is admirable, and likely the reason you’ve been so effective in defending them.”

“I still can’t protect everyone,” Raidou said. It was something he’d been told for years, by the Herald and Gouto and demons seeking to faze him. But the truth of it, heavy and cold, picked the worst moments to rest on his shoulders.

“Maybe not,” Victor said, with a merry smile that would be improper on anyone else, “but not everyone requires your assistance. You needn’t worry about any fatal misfortune befalling _me_ , at least.”

Raidou set his gaze to Victor again, tipping his head in the process. Because that was true. For someone who'd blown out his own heart a month ago, Victor was looking fairly chipper, with all parts of him back in position.

He would always be fine no matter where Raidou was. 

* * *

Mostly, the agency's clients didn't bring complicated quandaries when they walked through the door. They paid Narumi and Raidou to handle problems that were certainly unorthodox, but very few cases involved as much legwork as the trouble with the Tsukigata clan, or General Munakata. The Capital, inopportunely built on a cosmic fault line, had attracted fiends since time immemorial, yet demons rarely put their energy into crafting elaborate plans. They favoured harassment or brute force and Raidou could usually discourage them without fanfare.

Jack Frosts freezing crops. Goblins raiding pantries. Narumi had begun referring to such cases as _just another day at the office_.

Raidou understood that a Summoner’s role was one of duty and obligation, and he hadn’t completed his training in the hopes he’d be rewarded with a life of excitement—but the repetition of his work crept up on him, subtle and steady.

Autumn replaced summer before long, and it was inevitable that he came to know his neighbours, as they came to know him. The borough’s elderly residents struggled when winter turned up, and Raidou would help them prepare firewood when he could, but some perished nonetheless.

He mentioned the injustice of it to Narumi one morning, when another name he recognised graced the obituaries. Narumi’s smile was a transparent deception.

“Hazard of living, I’m afraid. One day, we’ll be old men ourselves.”

Raidou pressed his lips together, but he directed it at the floor. Narumi noticed regardless.

“It’s not so bad,” he said, newspaper rustling as he packed it away. “I bet you’ll still find a sweetie or two to wear on your arm, and you must know the saying. All cats are grey in the dark.”

Gouto sagely licked a stripe along the back of his paw.

“Maybe,” Raidou said.

“There's no maybe about it. And if you wind up with a wife to care for, just remember who looked out for you first.”

Raidou knew Narumi was only trying to lift his spirits. He could almost picture Narumi as a retiree, a little slower but still sharply-dressed, complaining about the modern youth to the same degree he did already.

Where Raidou faltered was picturing the same thing for himself.

* * *

“If I asked you a question,” Raidou said, as he held a combustion engine in place so Victor could probe its guts with a screwdriver, “would you answer it honestly?”

Victor paused, then used the back of his arm to push his goggles away from his eyes. As his gloves were glazed with motor oil, he held them out from his pristine apron, but a splash of it had got into his hair. Usually entirely grey—like an old man, but too unnatural for that—he now had a dark clump pinned above his right eyebrow.

He grinned. His skin was grey and his lips were black, exposing neat white teeth that weren't remotely like a predator's. He still reminded Raidou of a wolf.

“That very much depends on the question.”

“When were you born?” Raidou said. He’d thought it was straightforward enough when he’d developed the urge to ask, but now he wasn’t so sure.

“Hm. I thought exchanging birthday gifts wasn’t customary in this country.”

“That,” Raidou said, "sounds like more hassle.”

“Indeed it is, or it can be. Why, one year I purchased my dear friend Clerval a gilded fountain pen, only to receive the very same instrument from Clerval! A brisk exchange of florins would have saved us both the trouble.”

Raidou peered into the shell of the engine. “Switzerland hasn't used the florin as currency since the eighteenth century.”

Victor was quiet for a moment. Raidou looked up, and maybe now he could understand why there was always something sinister about Victor. His smile had grown thin and ambiguous.

“You have been researching me.”

“Only a few of the things you’ve said,” Raidou replied. “I was taking an interest.”

“And what did you learn?”

“That you must be a century old at least. If not, then you tell stories.”

“I see,” Victor murmured darkly, with a cant of his head. “Which is more likely, do you think?” When Raidou didn’t respond, Victor added, “What age would you say I am?”

“You don’t look _that_ old,” Raidou said, presuming he didn’t have to specify aloud that anyone in Victor’s situation would realistically be dead. “But then, you don’t resemble anyone I’ve ever seen. You must be human because there’s nothing else you could be.”

“What an incorrigible busybody you are!” Victor lifted his screwdriver and pointed with it. “I’ve kept nothing from you that you needed to know. But I suppose you're weighing up whether or not I'm a threat.”

Raidou stared, perplexed by the statement. Its resemblance to an accusation bothered him.

“No. All you’ve ever done is help. Perhaps you do it for your studies, or money, but you’ve never given me any reason to distrust you.”

The doctor laughed. He always sounded the same when he laughed, invariably a short, manic burst, so Raidou looked at him questioningly, wondering what it signified this time.

“There may be truth to what you’re saying, Kuzunoha, but am I billing you this evening?”

Victor gestured to the contraption on his workbench, which Raidou supposed was more of a surgical table. The engine usually resided within Narumi’s car, but it had ceased to function after an ill-advised stand-off with a lone Oboroguruma. The vehicle’s body required only cosmetic repairs, but the engine had really been looking for an excuse to pack up anyway.

So Raidou had brought the entire mechanism to Victor, and while they hadn’t talked payment yet, precedent suggested Victor rarely did anything for free. Apparently, he did now.

“Are you sure?” Gouto asked, roosting on one end of the table. The incredulity in his tone conveyed perfectly how Raidou felt.

“Quite. I am not in the habit of taxing friends with arbitrary charges.” Victor regarded Gouto with a polite smile; on him, it still looked borderline macabre. Then he directed it at Raidou. “Or perhaps I’m going soft in my old age.”

Amused, Raidou briefly smiled back. It was small, but it always was when he meant it. 

* * *

Though he’d seemed outraged by the prospect of someone investigating his origins, Victor only had himself to blame. In spite of the fact Raidou had never asked, he knew more useless information about Victor than just about anybody.

He knew Victor was from Geneva, which resembled Germany but spoke French; he could list an abundance of countries Victor had visited, then list almost as many countries that had apparently chased Victor out by torchlight.

But trying to piece together who Victor was from the disjointed things he’d said was like taping a journal back together after someone had tossed it inside a furnace. A sentence here and there on charred scraps of paper meant nothing when the rest of the page had long turned to ash. 

* * *

It just so happened that Raidou knew someone who was very good at constructing full narratives from choice words. Tae had told him the thing about florins because she’d recently befriended a local historian, a man who specialised in the West and wished to import its idea of suffrage. When Tae wrote of topics like rights and wages, her new friend enthused over every word. Tae subsequently liked her new friend quite a bit.

Raidou supposed it was because of this that Tae encouraged whatever interest Raidou showed in Victor. She’d met the doctor on a handful of occasions when accompanying Raidou, and though they’d got along—she’d seemed tickled by Victor bowing to her, calling the power of the pen greater than any army—she still steered clear of Victor’s laboratory on general principles. All the body parts he kept in jars disagreed with her.

“If only I lived in Finland,” Tae sighed, stabbing her ice-cream with a spoon. She'd offered to treat Raidou at the teahouse while Narumi spent the day begrudgingly dusting the office. (From what Raidou could gather, he’d lost some kind of wager.) “Or Portugal, or one of the countries in between. Ask your doctor friend about it! I would be allowed to cast a vote, same as you. Doesn’t that sound swell?”

Quietly working through a mouthful of vanilla, Raidou considered the question. He knew hardly anything about Europe and less about politics, but thankfully, Tae proved to be feeling rhetorical.

“I’m sorry, Raidou. I’m not much fun today. The coming election has me all worked up.”

“You don’t have to apologise.”

“You’re such a sweetheart,” Tae said through a smile. “You know, there’s a candidate who believes in censoring the press! You must cast your ballot against him with _conviction_.”

“My ballot?”

“Well, of course. You weren’t old enough to vote last time, but you must be planning on it now.”

When Raidou shook his head, Tae frowned. 

“For all your brains, you can’t half be a goof sometimes.”

“You sound like Narumi,” Raidou said. Still, when his boss called him a goof, it wasn’t usually ideological. Most recently, it had been in response to Raidou's unfamiliarity with orchestral jazz. “But he thinks politicians are all the same.”

“Well, Narumi wouldn’t recognise civic engagement if it socked him. I suppose all the matters to him is you being old enough to buy his wine and cigarettes.”

“He says learning to hold one’s liquor is important for a man.”

“Like _he_ knows anything about holding his liquor.” Tae perked up, hoisting both a brow and a shoulder. “Voting is _actually_ important, so consider it, won’t you?”

Raidou said that he would, though he already knew it was unlikely. His passivity with politics stemmed not from underestimating how much it meant. He understood just how important it was for the average person, who worried about holding down a job and what their children would be taught at school; he simply didn’t see himself as one of them.

While humans cycled through leaders, demons waged a relentless war of attrition, with no faction gaining sway or losing it. Raidou’s purpose was to ensure things stayed that way. His work was evergreen, and examples set by previous Kuzunohas told him he would never have children who’d go to school.

Shaping the mortal world was best left to those who truly inhabited it. 

* * *

“Did you bring it?” Victor asked, energetic and eager, in place of his customary greeting. His gaze flew to Raidou’s hip and the katana resting there. “Ah! You did. Draw near, Kuzunoha, draw near!”

Decorum made Raidou close the laboratory door before he did anything else. Then he crossed the floor, Gouto close behind, and pulled the katana from its sheath.

The Ippon-Datara that served as Victor's messenger had come to fetch Raidou about an hour ago, urging him to bring his sword. Upon accepting the invitation, Raidou had decided against pointing out that he carried his katana at all times anyway. If Victor hadn’t gathered that by now, it was a lost cause.

Victor did _not_ habitually carry a sword, so it leapt out that he was brandishing one now. He stood in place like a statue, drawn to full height, with his legs together but feet apart. Raidou was reminded of noblemen engaging in duels.

“If you’re amenable, _jeune maître_ , I’d like for us to spar,” Victor said. He must have anticipated resistance because he went on before Raidou could reply, “You may give it your all! This weapon I wield won’t suffer so much as a dent.”

It wasn’t the sword Raidou was worried about, though he supposed accounting for Victor's personal safety was an exercise in futility. Any damage wouldn’t last. Victor could fix himself, in the same way he could fix combustion engines.

No sooner had Raidou nodded than Victor changed his posture, bending one knee as he held his sword upright and ruler-straight. He resembled a fencer, _en garde_ ; Raidou felt it was only right to respond by lunging.

Victor blocked the thrust by swooping from above, Raidou’s blade striking Victor’s with a gratifying clink. Raidou looked up, finding a broad smile on the doctor’s face, and reckoned he could use Victor’s tense posture to his advantage. He took a step back, clearing enough space to lower his katana, then lunged again.

It worked. Victor couldn’t bring his sword down fast enough and had to dodge with his body instead, half-stumbling out of the way. Raidou, quicker on his feet, swung again while Victor was distracted. Victor managed to deflect it, another metallic echo ringing through the room, but now he was on the defensive.

Every time Victor charged, Raidou parried the blow. He seized any opening to come at Victor from a new angle, forcing Victor to put all his energy into swerving and blocking. Though Victor was competent, he couldn’t land a hit on Raidou’s body. By contrast, Raidou cut a few slits in Victor’s shirt. The thick material frayed and split, but didn’t expose any flesh.

Perhaps Raidou grew too complacent with the pattern they set—because in a move that was both unexpected and unnecessary, Victor managed to knock off Raidou’s hat.

Paralysed by embarrassment, Raidou abruptly came to a halt mid-swing. That turned to indignation when he saw Victor simply standing there, breathless and bright-eyed, lacking the decency to look even slightly ashamed of himself. In fact, Victor’s manic grin suggested he’d done it on purpose.

Raidou’s next swing landed with a vengeance; both Victor and his weapon went stumbling back. Victor dropped his sword, and it clattered on the stone floor.

The fight was over. Raidou made a noise of triumph that was nonetheless displeased, and went to retrieve his hat.

After it was firmly back on his head, he composed himself a bit. Victor had picked up his sword, and was now inspecting its blade with a less feverish look of glee. If Raidou didn’t know any better, he’d almost describe the warmth in Victor’s gaze as _loving_.

“A true feat of bladesmithing, wouldn't you say? I've dazzled even myself this time!”

“It’s good,” Raidou said, because he had to concede there was no flaw in Victor’s apparatus. The blade had taken fairly considerable blows without bending, and didn’t seem too heavy either, nor too blunt.

“From an approximate mute such as yourself, Kuzunoha, I’ll interpret this as high praise indeed.”

“When did you learn to fight?”

“As a young man,” Victor said, meeting Raidou’s eye, “in Germany. My university housed a fencing club. I cannot hold a candle to you, of course, but emerging victorious was not the purpose of my demonstration.”

Raidou hadn’t been thinking along those lines. Rather, he was wondering how to say that he’d enjoyed it. Even if the doctor wasn’t going to rival him any time soon, Victor was still the only person Raidou knew who could, at least, keep up with him. And the fact Raidou didn’t have to fear skewering him helped.

“What do you mean?”

“I wished to evaluate a new forging technique. Needless to say, I’m quite satisfied with the results.” Victor held out the sword he’d fought with. “If you like, you may keep the prototype.”

“How suspiciously generous,” Gouto said, earning a derisive scoff from Victor.

“I’ll make even finer swords after this, old boy, and those are the ones I shall sell.”

Raidou took the prototype, marveling at how it felt to hold. Its endurance suggested it should have been heavier, but it was light, slender like a rapier.

“Thank you,” he said, bowing as deeply as his boon would allow. He regarded its maker quietly for a moment, processing the glee beaming out of Victor in waves. Then he asked, “Would you spar with me again?”

Victor frowned. Maybe he’d expected a more protracted display of gratitude.

“Not right away,” Raidou clarified, “but in the future.”

“I suppose I could, though to what end?”

“So I can stay in practice. Sometimes, the Capital is quiet.”

“Well, I don’t see why not.” Victor rocked back on his heels. “Ah, but I dread to think what mischief I'll do to myself by making a habit of fencing again now. You’ll be the death of me, Kuzunoha!”

Raidou heard a tut and followed the trail to Gouto, who was rolling his eyes.

Well. Raidou had thought it was funny. 

* * *

After that, Raidou got to wondering what else Victor might be able to help him with. He’d always known that a scientist versed in demonic etiquette was a valuable resource, but the problem was that _Victor_ knew his own worth too. Lately, it seemed Raidou could approach him without having to stay mindful of an unseen running total being calculated in the background, and that made the Gouma Den feel less like a last resort.

Not that Raidou always found Victor there. With every passing month, Victor grew more confident about venturing outside. Numerous deportations-by-mob had made him reluctant to engage with the locals whenever he found a new locale to inhabit, but sharing a city with Narumi’s agency was fortunate, or so Victor said. It meant their neighbours had substantially more accessible whipping-boys whenever strange happenings encroached on daily life.

Most evenings, Victor had taken to collecting various samples from around the city, and no-one tended to bother him.

If Victor ever saw the summoner and his cat as a nuisance, he’d never said. Tonight, he was filling jars with water from the docks, and acknowledged Raidou by all but shoving one into Raidou’s hands.

“What do you need these for?” Raidou asked, though not to protest. He stooped beside Victor, leaning between two bollards to scoop sea water into the jug.

“Whatever it is,” Gouto grumbled, “keep ‘em away from me.”

“The water here is positively saturated with magic,” Victor said. “It’s preferable to even formaldehyde for preserving demonic specimens.”

Raidou supposed he should've known that already. He held up the jar, waiting for its contents to reveal some indication of abnormality as the moonlight shone through. But there was no ethereal glow, nor did it feel unusually warm.

“People swim and fish in these waters. Will they be safe?”

“Of course,” Victor huffed, but then he reassessed. “Or so I should think.”

“You're unsure.”

“Consider it an educated guess,” Victor said jauntily. “What I don’t know about the high seas isn’t worth knowing.”

“Because of your travels?”

“Quite. One must understand the dangers of the briny deep before they can master it.” Victor took the now-full jar when Raidou passed it along, smiling wryly as he affixed the lid. “And yours is a nation of fish-eaters, dear boy. If your neighbours start disparaging their suppers, you’ll surely notice. We don’t need science for this.”

Raidou smiled back, perhaps unwisely. He'd grown so accustomed to the doctor’s claims of possessing unrivaled _brilliance_ with an ego to match, that it almost felt like being made privy to a secret whenever Victor confessed ignorance. And his logic tracked. They could afford to be kindred conspirators.

Under the moon, Victor seemed to shimmer as Raidou had expected the water might, all shades of silver blurring at the borders. Up close, he was warm, too, like any other human—which he most certainly wasn’t.

“What brings you here this evening?” Victor asked, alerting Raidou to the fact he’d been staring at Victor for far too long. He quickly looked away, crouching to pick up the next empty jar.

“Narumi asked me to purchase some wine from the shop nearby.”

“Red or white?”

“Red.”

“Good lord. Granted, why he’d want either in the birthplace of saké is a mystery to me.”

Raidou marvelled. All he tended to hear these days—generally from Tae and Narumi—was how _good_ Western things were, ranging from food to drink to customs. Yet the only real Westerner any of them knew didn’t seem to spend much time yearning for all he’d left behind.

Ah. Tae. Raidou recalled the conversation they’d had a while ago, feeling relieved he’d run into Victor and not her instead. The spectre of her disapproval made him want to steer the subject away from alcohol.

“Your country,” he said, as the fleeting thought occurred to him, “is landlocked.”

Victor made his bewilderment known by casting it over his shoulder. If he didn’t understand what Raidou was getting at, then Raidou would simply have to spell it out.

“Switzerland isn’t best known for its sailors. Still, you act like an expert.”

The confusion on Victor's face gave way to agitation, and Raidou felt privately entertained by moments like these, when he could challenge those stories Victor told simply by reacting to them. Perhaps Victor was so used to people switching off when he ran his mouth that he thought he could get away with anything. Too bad Raidou’s function was to be perpetually observant.

“I never claimed that the bulk of my knowledge came from my youth. Though I did grow up beside lakes, in the mountains.”

“Then how did you become a sailor?”

“Necessity,” Victor said. “My most abstract talent is fleeing from trouble.” Then he stood, taking his latest jar with him, and aimlessly stared inside it. His voice took on a rare note of apprehension, as though he'd reached a sanitary compromise with himself in order to speak. “Would you believe me if I told you I did something terrible?”

Now it was Raidou’s turn to hesitate. Something Victor had said once echoed in his ears—about keeping nothing from him that he needed to know, and whether Raidou saw him as a threat. Though Raidou could say he trusted Narumi or Tae unconditionally, his trust in Victor extended only to a point; he knew far too much about nefarious things, and he lived in the same world Raidou did, a gleeful archivist of that demonic war of attrition.

Those were also the qualities Raidou liked about Victor most. But he wasn’t foolish.

“I’m almost positive you did.”

“Clever boy,” Victor murmured, smiling without mirth. “And yet, you insist on going out of your way to see me.”

Raidou blinked, adjusting his cap. He peered at his cat, and saw Gouto swiping at the water with a paw some distance away, having tired of the conversation a while ago.

Looking at Victor curiously, he said, “If I didn’t, I’d be a hypocrite.”

“Are you saying you think we’re alike, Kuzunoha?”

“I think you understand me. I think I understand you, too.”

Victor had nothing to say to that, not immediately. Rendering him speechless was apparently more satisfying than vexing him, though Raidou couldn’t work out what his current expression meant, from the downturn of his black mouth to the unwavering stare of two white eyes.

“Perhaps one day,” Victor said, “I shall take you sailing.” 

* * *

The next investigation to monopolise the Agency for longer than a week involved a changeling posing as an art dealer, a cursed mirror, and several petty thefts. Working the case was a lot less fun than the subsequent write-up made it sound, especially in Narumi’s estimation. He wound up spraining his ankle during the pursuit of a pickpocket who turned out to be unrelated, but at least it meant he could milk his physician’s orders to stay in bed.

During daylight hours, Raidou waited on him hand and foot, preparing his meals and fluffing his pillows. It wasn’t all that different from their usual routine, but he’d never heard Narumi complain so much before. Whenever Tae visited—partly to mock him and partly to dote on him—she always brought her friend along, who was a bit more sympathetic to Narumi’s plight.

After sunset, when Narumi finally stopped griping long enough to sleep, Raidou went to visit Victor.

With winter looming overhead, the nights were so much longer now. 

* * *

“Tae is getting married,” Raidou said, mostly to break the silence as he watched Victor pour two drinks from a decanter across the laboratory. The rickety wooden chair under him felt unreliable at best, much like its matching end table. All Victor’s sparse furniture had come from his antique-selling landlord, who wasn't renowned for stringent quality control.

“Marvelous news!” Victor spared a glance to his guest, and the cat curled up at Raidou’s feet. “Do pass along my best wishes. Might I know her lucky groom?”

“Maybe. He’s a local historian. They’re involved in politics together.”

“How delightfully predictable. I’ll have to procure an appropriate gift for the wedding—the collective works of Marx, perhaps?”

“It won’t be for a while yet,” Raidou stated. “She announced her engagement today, when she came to see Narumi. He nearly fainted.”

“I can imagine,” Victor said, drifting to the vacant chair. After patting the summoner's shoulder genially on his way, he deposited two glasses of amber liquid on the table, then sat down. “I suppose he’s horrified at the prospect of becoming the only bachelor in his social circle.”

Raidou’s pause belied his incredulity. “I don’t think Narumi minds being a bachelor.”

“So he says! Men who insist upon bachelorhood are the most eager to discard it.”

Though Raidou couldn’t say with any certainty if that was true, he wouldn’t pretend he thought Narumi was much of an authority on the subject either. So he lifted the drink he’d been given and stared, unable to tell what it was from just the colour and Victor’s description of it as ‘invigorating.’

“Is this whiskey?”

“Saké. You should know.”

“They all look the same,” Raidou said, because it was _true_.

“Have one glass. If you despise it, I won’t ask you to have another.”

As those terms seemed reasonable enough, Raidou obliged. The liquid tasted slightly like Narumi’s wine, but it had the consistency of water, and lacked the sour kick. The aftertaste was sweet. Still, alcohol was alcohol and Raidou crinkled his nose all the same, swiping a hand over his mouth. He found Victor’s eyes on him, teasing grin obscured only by Victor's own glass.

“No good?”

“It’s… not _bad_. I’ll have to get used to it.”

That was all the permission Victor needed. He seemed adamant about sharing the virtues of anything-but-wine, as though Raidou’s approval really mattered—hence his insistence that Raidou should come prepared to drink tonight. So one glass became two, and when he began to feel pleasantly giddy halfway through his third, Raidou wondered if he should feel mortified about his tolerance.

Because Victor didn’t seem notably affected. But then, Victor had the advantage of being bigger, with decades of experience, and having internal organs that were mostly just for show.

Even if he didn’t seem outwardly tipsy, there was something melancholy in his mood, in the way he swirled his drink and gazed into nothingness. He'd been despairingly miserable in Raidou’s company before, whenever a fusion failed or Raidou had mislaid some indispensable ingredient. Just as Raidou was beginning to wonder what he’d done wrong this time—perhaps his heinous crime was being a disappointing conversationalist—Victor spoke, quietly and without feeling.

“You know, I was married once.”

Raidou reflexively ingested a recklessly large mouthful of saké.

And then he reeled under the weight of countless questions. It was not in his nature to pry, but anything resembling marriage or domesticity hardly seemed to suit Victor’s nature—and their nature was the same, or thereabouts.

They weren’t the sort of people who gushed about weddings and a future with their true love. That was what people like Tae did—not summoners and their ilk, who lacked the luxury of a future to begin with. They'd traded mortal pursuits for morbid ones, and done so willingly.

“What happened?” he asked, finally. He was impressed with himself for managing that much.

“She died, of course.” Victor’s mouth quirked, though there was something sad about it. “It was my fault—not by design, but as a consequence of my own oversight. A careless fool sits before you.”

“Did you love her?” Raidou asked a bit too hastily for his own liking, only compounded by the way he leaned in. It wasn’t lost on Victor.

“At the time,” Victor said evenly. His gaze flickered back to meet Raidou’s. “Why, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were jealous.”

There was a heat in Raidou’s cheeks that he could put down to the saké, but he wasn’t sure where the blame lay for the twist in his guts. It was uncomfortable, yet it was another source of heat, tendrils of nervous warmth sprouting through his body. He lamely opened his mouth.

“At ease, Kuzunoha, I jest! Marriage must be on your mind, given your friend’s announcement.” Victor rolled back his shoulders, then took another sip. “I’ve no doubt you could find a bride of your own someday.”

Raidou swallowed, discovering his throat had gone dry. More saké was doubtless a bad idea, but he still downed the last of his current serving.

“I don’t think so,” he muttered. “I don’t think I’ll live that long.”

Never before had he uttered that suspicion aloud, and yet it emerged matter-of-factly, a truism he’d numbed to because of how frequently he’d thought it. A clan of summoners had raised him for this, and he’d always supposed his natural aptitude confirmed it was destiny that he saw it through. Gouto had said as much—he’d called Raidou the best keeper of the Kuzunoha title on record. Surely that meant something.

But a single blunder could still be the end of him. Most summoners expired that way.

Had he expressed anything like existential fear to his other friends, Raidou knew he would’ve received words of comfort and horror, assurances that they’d never let anything happen to him. Each promise would be hollow because everyone would know they weren’t true, and Raidou had never seen a reason to put them through the charade.

He received no such words of comfort from Victor. Victor had the same smirk he always did, whenever Raidou brought him an interesting project or conundrum to ponder.

“That doesn’t have to be the case.”

“Ah...?”

“It only takes some manipulated vampire blood, among other things. I could give you the gift of longevity.”

Again, Raidou swallowed. The aftertaste had returned to his mouth, sugary and organic.

“There wouldn’t be any way for me to repay that.”

“Consider it an early wedding present. In anticipation of the many weddings you’d get to have.”

“I don’t know if I want eternal life.”

“Who said anything about eternity?” Victor asked. The light of devilry and indulgence danced in his eyes. “I am tricking death, but death is no fool. It won’t overlook me forever.”

Alcohol wasn’t supposed to bring clarity, but Raidou had to wonder if the liquor in his belly had unsealed a level of insight that had previously evaded him. He was suddenly, tortuously conscious of so many things—from the earthy musk that constituted Victor's scent to how they were close enough that Raidou could knock their knees together. Most importantly, he registered that he’d been nursing a blind spot when it came to Victor, what moved him, what should've already been obvious.

“You’re scared of death,” he said plainly. “You’re scared of what’s on the other side.”

“Well done,” Victor said, sounding genuinely impressed. “As I told you before, I’m terribly good at fleeing from trouble.”

“I’m not fleeing from anything.”

“Except dying,” Victor quipped, easy and calm because he knew he was right. It landed like a fencing riposte. “If following in my footsteps doesn’t appeal to you, there’s always reincarnation. Sheer force of will is sometimes enough, but with my assistance, I could near enough guarantee that you’ll come back every time.”

Raidou opened his mouth, either to parry or dodge, but neither option ultimately fit. There was a far more pressing question to address, and it tumbled from him as Victor reached out to take the now-empty glass from Raidou’s grip.

Gently—light-headed and in need of an anchor for the feeling—Raidou’s free hand snaked upwards to hold Victor’s wrist. It had the intended effect. Victor stopped moving altogether, frozen while leaning forward, looking only scantly surprised.

“You make it sound like you would always bring me back,” Raidou said, quietly. “Like you would be there forever.”

“If you wanted,” Victor said. His voice was low, and the tug at the edge of his mouth suggested he felt infuriatingly pleased with himself. “I’ve never known a summoner so precise, so strategic. What a waste it would be, for someone else to take your title when it was so clearly waiting for _you_ —so yes, my offer stands without expiry.”

Raidou’s lips were dry now, like his mouth had been. His tongue darted out to wet them, and he saw Victor watch it happen, intently.

“That sounds like marriage,” Raidou said.

“Complete with death doing us part,” Victor said, amused, as Raidou finally let him go, his body unfurling into every shade of silver. “For a short while, at least.” 

* * *

Perhaps it wasn’t quite true that Raidou knew only one person with a stake in eternity. Yet it was occasionally difficult to reconcile how Gouto-Douji had once been a person with the fact he was, these days, typically a cat. The Goddess Yatagarasu and her Herald sometimes cast Gouto’s soul into different bodies, but he always returned to fur and four legs.

Unlike Victor, Gouto rarely discussed his past; all Raidou knew was that Gouto had first been a yokai, second a Kuzunoha, and thirdly a cat, with far more than nine lives at his disposal. The divine beings who supervised the Kuzunoha clans had disapproved of something Gouto did, and he saw their refusal to let him pass on as a cruelty. He didn’t wholly despise guiding each new Kuzunoha from coronation to grave, but his charges would inevitably die; he would inevitably mourn.

So Raidou had expected that Gouto, before anyone else, might hear Victor’s proposal and identify its merits. He hadn’t expected Gouto to look displeased, tail flicking as his fur bristled, while he got comfortable at the foot of Raidou’s futon.

“You're not honestly considering it,” he said, green eyes like tourmaline through the dark.

“I’m not sure,” Raidou said. “Has it really never been done before?”

“I've heard of summoners possessing their living descendants, but not on a permanent basis. What you’re suggesting is downright masochistic.”

“I didn’t think it would make you so angry.”

“I’m not _angry_ , it’s just—have I taught you nothing, kid? I’m a walking, mewling cautionary tale.”

“You’ve taught me plenty, like the importance of keeping my options open. This is just an option.”

“It shouldn’t be. A party is only a party because everyone knows it has to end at some point.”

“It never ends for you,” Raidou said, for he and Gouto had long since passed the point of being needlessly timid with each other. “If I was indestructible, or kept coming back, you wouldn't have to say goodbye anymore.”

Gouto’s inexpressive face betrayed even less than its default, his tail a flagpole behind him.

“It would be you and me.”

“Yes,” Raidou replied, thinking he heard a wistful note in Gouto's voice. Though he didn’t quite smile, his eyes crinkled at the corners. “You once said that guiding me was an honour.”

“And I meant it. If I had a paternal bone in my body, you’d be the first to know.”

Vaguely, from either his books or schooling, Raidou remembered reading somewhere that cats had more bones in their bodies than humans, so Gouto’s skeleton was a far more complex machine than his summoner’s. Or maybe Victor had told Raidou that. He did know an awful lot about skeletons, and now his voice was in Raidou’s head, confidently nestled within his skull.

“It would be you and me,” Raidou said, “and the doctor.”

“ _Hmph_. It usually is, nowadays.”

Now Raidou did smile. There could be no secrets between a boy and his cat.

“You’ve noticed.”

“Who you get stuck on is your business,” Gouto stated, verbally shrugging because he couldn’t physically. “But I hope you know what you’re doing. That guy’s a kook, a quack, and undoubtedly certifiable.”

 _You don’t say_ , Raidou thought. Then he reached out and scratched Gouto behind the ear. 

* * *

“Going somewhere?” asked the couch by the doorway, with Narumi’s voice. Raidou rounded it and found Narumi stretched out across the cushions where Raidou had left him. The morning newspaper lay open over his chest.

Raidou nodded, tightening the clasp of his cape. “Do you want to come?”

Narumi’s period of medically ordained rest was coming to an end, and he probably didn’t even need the remainder of it, but Raidou knew Narumi wouldn’t be going anywhere while he still had a precarious excuse. True to form, Narumi twisted his mouth in a showcase of deliberation, as though he would _like_ to go, if only he wasn’t so indisposed.

“I’m sure you can handle yourself just fine.” Narumi pawed at the newspaper until he could crumple its pages together, depositing them all on the coffee table. “What time is it?”

“Late. You slept away the afternoon.”

“Well, I do need my rest.”

Raidou was not in the habit of rolling his eyes, but Gouto was, and he knew he could rely on his cat to do the honours. Aware nobody was buying his act and completely unfazed by it, Narumi sat up, carding a hand through his hair.

“I’ll make us tea if you get back early enough. Unless, of course, your girl gives you so much of it that you’re sick of the stuff.” Narumi waggled his brows. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you sneaking out after dark.”

There had been no attempt on Raidou’s part to keep his nocturnal walks clandestine, but he allowed Narumi's moment of self-satisfaction. Mostly because he didn’t care enough to puncture it.

“I might be late,” was all Raidou said, and he could feel the scandalised grin forming on Narumi’s face as he walked out the door.

He thought about the contortions Narumi’s face had made before, when Tae and her fiancé spoke of love in a time of revolution. He wondered what face Narumi would make if he knew where Raidou was going night after night. 

* * *

Raidou found Victor not in town, but on the outskirts, observing the sky through goggles that looked more like twin telescopes. It was a cold night, but a clear one too, and a bone-soaking chill in the air was never enough to deter him from charting constellations when perfect conditions arose.

Gouto hung back by the mouth of the woodland, providing a dubious excuse about standing guard. As Raidou entered the clearing, the trees watched on like captivated spectators, not permitting even their leaves to rustle for fear of missing a single word.

“I've made up my mind,” he said.

Victor had either been expecting Raidou’s arrival or detected it, because he didn’t turn around—not right away. He tugged his goggles down one-handedly, observing the stars without them.

“Then bare your soul, dear boy.”

“I spent a lot of time thinking about it,” Raidou said. “And then I decided that I’m too young to think about it.”

That made Victor pivot on the spot, and Raidou saw the ghost of a smile suspended on Victor’s face, now coloured with either bewilderment or disappointment. It proved to be the former when Victor spoke, good-naturedly and devoid of malice.

“Whatever do you mean?”

“I know I’m not too young to die, but I don’t think I’m going to any time soon. I’m good at my job.”

Victor revived his smile, dryly. “You are indeed.”

“But I’m still learning,” Raidou continued, taking a step forward, then one more. “If I knew you were going to fix me every time, I might stop trying to get better. I could get lazy.”

“You certainly _have_ been thinking,” Victor replied. He followed Raidou’s lead towards the middle of the glade, where the weak moonlight was almost a passable substitute for a solitary lantern. “Yet I doubt you came all this way just to tell me so little.”

Shaking his head, Raidou stopped, a pace or two short of Victor. He had to crane his neck slightly to meet Victor’s eye, but he still didn’t see Victor as a threat. He didn’t think he ever could. Even if he should.

“I wanted to tell you,” Raidou said, “that I don’t think I’ll have many weddings, after all.”

“Oh?” Victor did a poor job of keeping his smile enigmatic. “And why’s that?”

Raidou had no right to criticize the doctor’s dismal self-control, because he was almost positive the familiar heat in his belly was all over his face, amplifying the beat of his heart so their towering onlookers could hear.

“I think the only person I want to be around that much is you.”

Victor didn’t seem particularly surprised. The lone indication he understood at all came from the fractional tilt of his head, as though Raidou was one of his specimens, a curiosity under a microscope.

“Yes,” he said, after a moment, “I rather suspected you might.”

It wasn’t anywhere close to the response Raidou had wanted, but by the same token, it felt about right. Of course Victor would see straight through him—and if that wasn’t the case, if this was another instance of Victor’s omnipotence falling short, then of course Victor would assume most people saw him as an impossibly eligible bachelor.

Raidou laughed, entirely in spite of himself. It was short and smothered against a fist, but Victor responded regardless, touching a hand fondly to Raidou’s cheek. He wasn’t wearing his gloves tonight, his skin cold like any human's would be.

“You are extremely bewitching,” Victor murmured, “yet you said it yourself that you are but a young man.”

“I don’t care. I’ll never catch up to you, no matter how long I live.”

“Then this is some silly infatuation.” Victor sounded stern, tone as sharp as it was whenever he got into one of his sulks, but it was unconvincing given how reverently still his hand was against Raidou's face. “You don't understand what you're asking.”

“Maybe I don’t,” Raidou conceded, “but I’ve never had to hide anything from you. Did you want me to start now?”

“Nobody who gets involved with me leads an ordinary life for long. In fact, very few survive to tell the tale.”

“My life isn't ordinary anyway,” Raidou said. With an air of finality, he placed his hand over Victor’s, and found Victor’s warmer than his own.

Victor had exhausted his objections, yet stubbornly, confoundingly, he wouldn’t move. He hovered there, maddeningly close, but Raidou could be equally stubborn when he wanted to be. And right now, he most certainly wanted.

He grabbed Victor’s sleeve, seizing a fistful of fabric, drawing him to a far more manageable level. Victor went easily, but he made a noise like a gasp—a sound Raidou had never heard him make before, which was a fleeting point of delight. His black mouth was slack, glassy skin that would be flushed if it were capable paling in comparison to that unwavering stare of his two white eyes. His breath, so warm and laboured, traced Raidou's lips.

It was as far as Raidou got. He'd forgotten the rules of engagement here weren't quite the same as in fencing, and though Victor was singularly shameless, Raidou couldn't plead the same ignorance. He was conscious of every bound they'd be breaking with the doctor this close, wondering with alarm if the right thing to offer was an apology.

And yet, as was always the way when he went seeking Victor, Raidou found he could worry about his inexperience when he got there. Victor spared him the embarrassment by closing the gap between them, and when Victor kissed him he was shot through with such electricity that it stopped his heart—but the glade was as quiet as his singing blood wasn’t, and he was alive, alive, alive.

Every kiss after that beat a vow at an altar.

* * *

The Capital was nothing if not a hotbed for things that couldn’t be explained. Ghost stories functioned as their own social currency, swapped between settlers and sailors and shopkeepers alike.

For decades to come and longer still, the city would speak of a young man and his cat, their silhouettes perceptible through the haze at the harbour on foggy days. But it was bad luck to approach them.

Especially during those evenings in which they already had company, by way of a shadow almost too silver to see.


End file.
